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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25233025">The alchemist, the arsonist, and the Archivist</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CureIcy/pseuds/CureIcy'>CureIcy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Horror, Parental Maes Hughes, even eldritch fear entities hate fascism, taking the FMA deconstructions of xenophobia and combining them with the TMA ones</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:08:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>18,305</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25233025</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CureIcy/pseuds/CureIcy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Section 31 of Intelligence handles all sorts of weird stuff; Hughes knows this. But when they hire an archivist named Jonathan Sims to help keep things in order, the weird things start coming for them in ways that are harder to ignore. And there may even be worse things out there than the eldritch fear abominations.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Maes Hughes &amp; Roy Mustang</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>129</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>77</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>RaeLynn's Epic Rec List</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The finest cut</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings in the end notes. I'm trying that so as not to spoil people, but to give the option because content warnings are a legitimate concern.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>Statement of Lyla Hansen, regarding her near death experience at the hands of the infamous serial killer Barry the Chopper. Statement given 19th March, 1909; taken direct from subject, and recorded by Captain Maes Hughes, Head of Investigations, Section 31. Statement begins.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Lyla Hansen]</b>
</p><p>Thank you. I...could you not refer to him by a title? It makes him sound like he’s more important than he is.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>Of course. Do you need a moment?</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Lyla Hansen]</b>
</p><p>No, I’m all right. I just get tired of people glorifying serial killers, you know? They’re all just entitled men who are the reason women have to be careful walking home at night. And they’re not particularly clever, either; the only reason they go uncaught for so long is because they target strangers.</p><p>I know this because I used to have an obsession with them, and a friend who shared my passion-- Clarissa Norman. We would puzzle through cold cases and newspapers, never really amounting to much, until eventually I started picking up on the strange gleam in her eyes when she talked about the beautiful violence of it all, like a knife was a paintbrush tipped in red, disrupting the human symmetry and creating something new. We drifted apart, really, as I started to see the darker side of criminal obsession in Clarissa, and I decided to use my interest in crime to become a lawyer instead. It was hard work, but the pay is excellent, and when I had a health scare a few years ago due to a stress-induced condition, I started working shorter hours and began to dip into my considerable savings.</p><p>I hadn’t expected the boredom of suddenly having so much free time, though, and it threw my lacking social life into sharp relief. I suppose that’s why I was so amenable when Clarissa invited me over for tea, saying she wanted to catch up.</p><p>I had never really made my feelings about Clarissa clear to her— I’m much too polite for that, though in hindsight I realized it was fear behind my decision to quietly part ways— fear that I did not matter to her, that one day she would see me as just another victim of her artistic, bloody vision. After we’d been apart for years, though, it seemed much too harsh a reaction. Surely I’d overreacted, and perhaps she was a little bit touched in the head at the time, but never showed any violent inclination. She sounded so excited to see me over the phone, and I agreed readily enough, hoping she had changed.</p><p>Her house was a ways out from the city, and the well used car in her driveway implied that she chose this place for the peace but also the commute to Central. There was a delivery truck out front, and I caught sight of a pair of stocky men in matching overalls in the front seat. I didn’t pay them much mind, though, since it seemed like they were just finishing, and it made sense that Clarissa would prefer things to be delivered than drive into the city for every bit of shopping. I just kept walking.</p><p>When she welcomed me at the door and invited me inside, her eyes were bright, almost feverishly so. Her house was spacious, but sparsely furnished in a way that made it look empty, and she steered me away from the kitchen and to the sitting room. I didn’t even have a glance into her kitchen, which…</p><p>I don’t know if it was good or bad. I don’t know if Clarissa would have killed me on the spot if I’d seen, or if I could have run and avoided the ordeal entirely. Likely the former, given what I know now about my feeble chances of escape, but every time I play the scene over in my head, I take that chance and find a miracle of some sort.</p><p>The walls were blank white and the furniture cheap and generic, the sort that gave little indication of someone’s personality other than perhaps the catalog they’d ordered from. When I asked her, she laughed and replied that she had her own hobbies, which took up most of her time. That, she explained, was why everything else was so bland. She left briefly to the kitchen to fetch us some tea, and told me to make myself at home, but it was scarcely a minute later when she came back, presenting me with a tray that had two identical teacups.</p><p>I distinctly remember that both cups were an equal distance away from me, both handles facing out. I’m ambidextrous and she knows— she <em> knew </em>that. She had no way of knowing which cup I would take, no way of sneaking something into my drink while I was holding it.</p><p>And yet she seemed wide awake and perky, almost eager, although what for I couldn’t know at the time. I told her I was getting tired, and maybe I should head home and rest; perhaps I should have been more suspicious, but I couldn’t find it in me to question anything, really. She insisted I finish my tea, then led me to her car and offered to drive me home. I couldn’t even use the seatbelt properly at that point, much less protest. My mind felt sluggish and my hands clumsy, so she strapped me in. I fell asleep before we left the driveway.</p><p>When I awoke, I was cold, and everything smelled of meat.</p><p>I’m not a vegetarian by any stretch of the word, but something about raw meat is repulsive to me in a way that the cooked stuff isn’t. Maybe it’s the texture, or the uncanny juxtaposition of the food you eat and the muscles in anatomy textbooks. Maybe it’s the blood. I’ve never much liked blood. I have to look away when I have it drawn, and it’s not the needles; I’m fine with shots, but the feeling of the syringe slowly filling with the red liquid that was once a part of me...it sickened me every time.</p><p>And now it was everywhere. I could feel the freezing metal links of a chain around my wrists, see wisps of silver fog that hung low to the ground, the rusty tang of new and old blood so thick I was almost choking on it. There were rows upon rows of meat, mainly pigs hanging from the ceiling, their eyes glassy and jaws hanging open limply. I couldn’t tell how many there were; they seemed to go on forever, and all that separated me from them was the moment I knew was coming.</p><p>I struggled and screamed and cried for help, but there was nothing but the forest of gently swaying pig carcasses around me, their bellies sliced open, blood drained, skin grey and clammy. It disturbed me, how much their bodies reminded me of people. Between tendrils of the cool mist, I could almost imagine that they <em> were </em>real people. Sometimes I caught a glimpse of a body with limbs too long and faces too expressive, and I was convinced I wasn’t imagining, that there was another person swinging from the chain with their belly slit and blood drained.</p><p>I saw Barry then, walking with Clarissa. He had his arm around her, either not noticing or not caring about the tension in her shoulders that clearly projected discomfort. It’s funny; I could have very well passed him on the street and not noticed, and I think that’s going to haunt me for a good long time.</p><p>He was of average height, with an angular face that hinted at every line of his skull and a shock of dirty blonde hair, cropped short on the sides. He carried a cleaver with the casual ease that a child might carry a walking stick they found an hour ago on their hike; with confidence, and occasionally poking one of the dead pigs and letting out an echoing laugh. At one point, he poked something that screeched in pain, and then he went into a frenzy. My view was obscured by one of the many pigs hanging from the ceiling, but I saw how wild his swings went, flashes of silver gleaming on either side as he slashed and laughed. A spray of blood hit her face, and she didn’t blink, but wiped her face and stared at her hand in dull disbelief.</p><p>I only had flickering fluorescent lights above to see by, and the carcasses around me cast strange shadows that seemed to slant the wrong way, but I <em> know </em>what I saw. And I saw him give something small and flesh-colored to Clarissa, who pocketed it with a smile. A small red stain began to grow in her skirt pocket, but she never looked down, just kept her hand wrapped around the present she’d been given as though it was a precious treasure. As if this made everything okay again. She turned to him and said something I couldn’t hear. </p><p>That’s when the building shuddered to life, lines running across the ceiling beginning to drag me and everything hanging from the ceiling towards something. What it was, I couldn’t say, but I know I screamed. And I wasn’t the only one. I’d thought I was the only living being left in that massive place, and maybe I was, but that didn’t stop. The noise went on and on, blending and echoing and so constant I can still hear it now. It blanketed the space, and then, like a stormy ocean settling into a glassy pond, it stopped, and in its place was a sound like...like flesh moving in ways it shouldn’t have, I don’t know, I can’t describe it, but it sounded like bodies moving in ways that they weren’t designed to. I shut my eyes tightly, and when I finally felt the warmth of something, I lashed out as much as I could while still digging my heels in against the pull of the chain.</p><p>It was Clarissa. She looked as though she’d been crying for hours, hands and voice shaking but resolve firm.</p><p>“I was a fool,” she said. “Run, before I change my mind.”</p><p>She sliced the chain with a blunt tool that I couldn’t tell you the name of, taking a small chunk of my wrist with it. I didn’t dare cry out, but clutched it as tight as I could with my other hand and ran in the opposite direction. I didn’t look back until I found the police station. After that, I think you know the rest. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>So, you believe Clarissa was working with Barry, but then betrayed him?</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Lyla Hansen]</b>
</p><p>Yeah...and he… he killed her for it. I just, I wish I understood why she did it, why she was smiling at the end. I wish I could be more help to you, but that’s all I have.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>The information you’ve already given us has been invaluable. Thank you for your time, Miss Hansen. I can provide you with an escort home if you like.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Lyla Hansen]</b>
</p><p>I’d like that.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>Great! Daisy, would you mind escorting Miss Hansen? I’d offer to do it myself, but Gracia said she’s got a surprise for me when I get home.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Daisy Tonner]</b>
</p><p>[affectionate sigh] You’re too soft for this job, sir. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>Aw, don’t say that! I think it suits me just fine. I’ll take you out to lunch to make it up to you!</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Daisy Tonner]</b>
</p><p>You don’t need to do that; I’m fine. Besides, Basira’s been packing my lunches anyways, and she’s an excellent cook. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>Oh, so are you planning to get yourself a wife too?</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Daisy Tonner]</b>
</p><p>Don’t be ridiculous, sir, there are rules against fraternization. And the tape’s still running.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>Right, my bad.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[click]</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>Supplemental: we did our own investigation of the warehouse. It’s possible there may have been other people there, but it’s hard to tell. The thing that disturbs me is that there were traces of flesh left in strange shapes, like fur caught in a branch. I followed the direction in which they pointed, and found a space maybe twenty meters in diameter, irregular, and clear of blood. There was a handprint on the ground reaching out from it.</p><p>I don’t know what this means exactly, but I have a suspicion as to what Barry was attempting. I’ll have to keep an eye on him. I wonder why only Miss Hansen was spared, though. Perhaps he needed a living human as the focal point? Combined with her distaste for raw meat and blood, which Miss Norman was no doubt aware of, it would seem she was chosen.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[click]</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Warnings for:<br/>-betrayal<br/>-abduction<br/>-implied murder<br/>-Flesh typical body horror<br/>-knife violence<br/>-mentions of true crime community</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. At the end of the tunnel</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Time for me to earn the parental maes hughes tag. Warnings are in the end notes.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>Oh, geez— how old is he?</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Daisy Tonner]</b>
</p><p>Seven, sir.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>This is <em> unacceptable </em>. Martin, make this kid a cup of tea, mostly milk and honey. Daisy, can you get a couple of books for— no, no, we’re doing this on the floor. Grab a blanket for the kid— hey, can you tell me your name, kiddo?</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[???]</b>
</p><p>It’s— it’s…</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>Sorry, I couldn’t hear you. Can you repeat that?</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[???]</b>
</p><p>Gavin. I’m Gavin.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>Gavin, huh? That’s a good name. You can call me Mr. Hughes. Thank you, Martin. Here, Martin makes the best tea. Did you know he’s the reason I made the switch from coffee to tea?</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Gavin]</b>
</p><p>But— but tea is a grown up drink.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>You were very brave today, Gavin. I think you’ve earned a grown up drink. You know why grown ups drink tea and coffee? Because our problems get bigger when we do, and sometimes we need a warm, comforting drink. You just had an encounter with the sort of problems not even grown ups face, and that’s why you get tea. I’ll explain it to your parents if they ask, okay?</p><p> </p><p>[gentle sipping sound]</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Gavin]</b>
</p><p>I don’t have parents. Not anymore.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>Who takes care of you?</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Gavin]</b>
</p><p>My aunt and uncle. They’re nice, I guess, but I don’t know them. It’s too quiet there. I wanted to go and make friends in the neighborhood, but…</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>Hey, hey, it’s all right. We’ve got you, kiddo.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Gavin]</b>
</p><p>Mr. Hughes, do grown ups get scared too?</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>Yeah, sometimes. But we can deal with it better than kids can, and that’s why you should let the adults take care of the scary stuff.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Gavin]</b>
</p><p>So...you won’t be as scared as I am when I tell you? </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>No, we won’t. We know how to handle scary stuff, and we can handle it for you.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Gavin]</b>
</p><p>Okay...</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>Wanna get started?</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Gavin]</b>
</p><p>Yeah. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>All right. Let me— oh. It’s already running. Statement of Gavin… what’s your last name?</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Gavin]</b>
</p><p>Matthews.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>Statement of Gavin Matthews, regarding a supernatural encounter. Taken direct from subject 9th October, 1909, and recorded by Captain Maes Hughes, Head of Investigations, Section 31 Statement begins.</p><p> </p><p>[long pause]</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Gavin Matthews]</b>
</p><p>Do I start now?</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>Whenever you’re ready, kiddo.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Gavin Matthews]</b>
</p><p>Mkay. Um, I guess... I used to really like exploring. I liked it when I lived down south, and I’d pack a hat and some water and go wandering a lot. I found some really cool stuff, like a fossil once, or a fifty cenz coin that Dad said was really old. But then… Mom and Dad died, and I had to move in with my aunt and uncle. They live in the city, and I don’t like it. Everything is too loud and too bright, and I miss my friends. The kids at school make fun of my accent.</p><p>I went exploring again because I thought I’d feel better. Everyone kept telling me it was a fresh start, so maybe I’d find cool things here too. My aunt gave me a backpack with a jacket and water and snacks and a couple plasters in case I got a scrape, and told me to be home before dinner.</p><p>There aren’t any good woods in the city to explore, but there are some parks. I asked for directions, and heard there was one a couple blocks away from my aunt and uncle’s house. The playgrounds are good in the city; they have rows of swings and other kids who sometimes play with you. But the park I went to was big, with a long path and a lot of trees and some old people on benches. There wasn’t a playground or anyone close to my age, but it reminded me of the forest back home, the way the trees sway like they’re whispering secrets to each other.</p><p>I started down the path, drinking water occasionally and listening as the noise of the cars slowly went away. I don’t know how long I was wandering, or when I couldn’t see the light through the trees anymore. There was just this light up ahead, in the distance. It scared me that I’d been following it for so long without even realizing it. </p><p>Mr. Hughes, it was really scary. I couldn’t stop walking, and I— I—</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>It’s okay, Gavin, it wasn’t your fault. Look at me. None of this was your fault.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Gavin Matthews]</b>
</p><p>I— then whose fault was it?</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>There are some really bad things in the world. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Gavin Matthews]</b>
</p><p>And it was the bad things that made it happen?</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>Yeah, sounds like it. Do you want another cup of tea?</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Gavin Matthews]</b>
</p><p>Yes please.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>Martin—</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Martin Blackwood]</b>
</p><p>One step ahead of you, sir. Careful; it’s still a bit hot.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Gavin Matthews]</b>
</p><p>You’re <em> really </em>good at making tea.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Martin Blackwood]</b>
</p><p>Thank you, Gavin. I do my best.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Gavin Matthews]</b>
</p><p>Yeah. </p><p> </p><p>[Long silence, punctuated occasionally by the clacking of a pen, sipping of tea, or noises of Martin keeping the kettle warm in the adjacent room] </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Gavin Matthews]</b>
</p><p>I think I’m ready now.</p><p>I couldn’t stop walking. I was crying, but my body wouldn’t let me stop, or even look away from the light. And the ground started tilting down, and it got bumpy and little rocks made these weird skittering sounds when my feet hit them. When it was flat again, the light got closer, and closer until I could see the person holding it. They were wearing a really long cloak, and I couldn’t see their eyes, just the lantern in their hand. I saw their smile, though. On either side of them, a tunnel branched off, but the darkness seemed really thick, like the light couldn’t cut through it.</p><p>They raised the lantern, and it cast really weird shadows, like claws and eyes and teeth on one wall and a sort of blobby, shapeless thing that moved at the edges on the other. They were fighting each other, tearing off bits and pieces and tossing them into the lantern flame.</p><p>Then the shapeless darkness turned to me, and I think I fell, and then I was lying on the ground with twigs in my hair. It was still dark, but the fuzzy kind, where you can see outlines. I saw hints of stars through the trees, and a light surrounded by a scary tunnel. I knew it was a streetlight and the scary tunnel was just the trees, but I felt like even though it was different this time, nothing had changed. I could have stopped walking, but I didn’t try. It was messed up. It messed me up.</p><p>It was dark, and I was cold and hungry. I took my jacket and the granola bar from my backpack, and I was sitting on the bench eating when a police officer came over to me and asked for my name. When I told him, he gave me a ride home. I didn’t know why, and I was really tired by then, but he said I had been missing for a week. When I got home, my aunt hugged me and fussed over me a lot, and my uncle kept asking whether I was okay and where I’d been. I told him I got lost, and it was really dark and scary, and there was this tunnel, and my aunt made me some warm milk and sent me to bed after a while. </p><p>I don’t think I want to explore on my own again, though. I don’t feel safe here. I wanna go back home, where you can always see the sun through the trees behind my old house. I miss it. But I get restless at home all day. I can’t focus long enough to read like the other kids, and I wanna run outside but I’m scared.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>Well, it sounds like your aunt and uncle care a lot about you. Maybe you can ask them to show you around the city? It’ll be a different kind of exploring, but you won’t have to be be alone. And I think you’ll be safer with them. You don’t have to, but it might help a few things.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Gavin Matthews]</b>
</p><p>I don’t want to bother them, though. They were worried enough when I disappeared.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>Well, I can tell they care about you a lot. And since you’re living with them now, it’s a good way to get to know each other. Grown ups don’t get scared a lot, but when we do, it’s because we want to protect our kids. They’re not angry, they’re scared for you, and they won’t get mad if you ask.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Gavin Matthews]</b>
</p><p>That would be cool, I guess. [sniffling] Thanks, Mr. Hughes.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>It’s what I’m here for, kiddo. All right, statement ends.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[click]</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>Hey, Basira?</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Basira Hussain]</b>
</p><p>Yes, sir?</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>The way Gavin talked about darkness and fighting...it reminded me of Ishval.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Basira Hussain]</b>
</p><p>Shall I ask Martin to bring a cup of tea for you as well?</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>No, I’m heading home soon. [a pause, then the clink of a pen being replaced in a jar] Do you think we could have done anything else?</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Basira Hussain]</b>
</p><p>We’ve all made our mistakes, and learning to move forward from them is more effective than mastering the art of hindsight. So what do you want to do moving forward, sir?</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>I have a plan. It may take years, but it has the power to fix this country, to reforge it and never allow something like that to happen again.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Basira Hussain]</b>
</p><p>And if your plan fails?</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>Then it’s on to plan B. And I might not come home to Gracia.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Basira Hussain]</b>
</p><p>I hate plan B.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>Me too, Basira. Me too.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Basira Hussain]</b>
</p><p>And what about the war crimes that were committed there?</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>Are you worried about Daisy?</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Basira Hussain]</b>
</p><p>Are <em> you </em>worried about Mustang?</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>...no one ever said it would be easy. But I’ve been thinking lately, about how I want to raise a family here with Gracia. I have a responsibility to the next generation, to clean up the mistakes we made. I know what sort of future I want. And hey, if plan A succeeds, maybe Roy will finally get himself a wife and follow in my footsteps.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Basira Hussain]</b>
</p><p>You’re incorrigible, sir.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>Hey, I’m not dying until we get to go on a double date. Have you <em> seen </em> the way he looks at Hawkeye?</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Basira Hussain]</b>
</p><p>I hate to disrupt your seven minute speech on why you ship your best friends, but the tape is still running.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>Huh, that’s strange. I could have sworn I turned it off earlier.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Basira Hussain]</b>
</p><p>You did. Maybe it turned on by itself?</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>Yeah, that wouldn’t surprise me. I’ll see what I can go about getting it fixed.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[click]</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Warnings for:<br/>-children going through trauma<br/>-emotional manipulation</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Personally I’d love to hear that seven minute speech. Not sure how the canon trait of bugging Roy about getting a wife turned into Hughes being such a huge shipper, but I’m not complaining.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. In the chaos of war</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Seasonal depression does not mix well with PTSD. Warnings are in the end notes</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>[Roy Mustang]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I take it you haven’t fixed the tape recorder?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Roy! Good to see you. And I decided not to; it has its charms, ya know?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Roy Mustang]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I can’t say I do.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[sigh, soft fwump of someone sitting down]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Roy Mustang]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I think the cold is getting to me. It’s the first full winter since I came back, and…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Mm, I know what you mean. I’ve been taking walks in the greenhouse, but it’s not enough.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Roy Mustang]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I miss the sunlight, Maes...</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I know. Me too. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Roy Mustang]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Even though I know the world will return to normal in the spring, it reminds me too much of Ishval.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Yikes. Want to come over for dinner tonight? Go out drinking?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Roy Mustang]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ll do both if you’re up for it, but first I thought I'd make a statement. You deal with that sort of thing, right? And... I saw something there. Something I think I'd blocked out for a while. But whatever it was, it's not natural. And Section 31 specializes in that, right?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Right. Statement of Lieutenant Colonel Roy Mustang, regarding his experiences in the Ishvalan Civil War. Statement given 27th January, 1910; taken direct from subject, and recorded by Major Maes Hughes, Head of Investigations, Section 31. Statement begins.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Roy Mustang]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>You know as well as I do that there isn’t any glory in war. We weren’t fighting for our country out of honor or loyalty, but out of a collective fear of a people we deemed to be our enemies because they were different. I’ve been told that I shouldn’t even feel any loyalty to Amestris because I’m not from here, but this is the place I was born and raised. This is my home, and that’s why I want to make it better.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>We made things worse when we were out there. My only consolation is that we humans weren’t the only monsters killing people in the East. There was something else out there, maybe multiple somethings.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The first thing I saw that didn’t line up was a table at the mess hall, full of people wearing an assortment of uniforms. Some of them wore green and grey, thin fabric that suited the desert heat far better than the woolen Amestrian uniforms, and had golden eyes. A few of them were wearing outfits I recognized from various Xingan clans and eras, although I couldn’t tell you their names. I’m not sure how well they translate, or how much they’d mean to you anyways.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Several were wearing uniforms I recognized as Drachman from learning about our last major war with them— they seemed unbothered by the heat, weren’t even sweating.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were faces I almost recognized— a man who bore a striking resemblance to Elijah Pennington, who disappeared centuries ago. He was surrounded by young men and women in lab coats, all with their hair pulled up and comparing notes with one another.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was even a woman with close cropped blonde hair who I mistook for Hawkeye in a moment of panic before I realized that despite the initial similarities, she was shorter, stockier, with a tan to her skin and a huskiness to her voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I asked the men at my table if any of them recognized the strange assortment across from us, but no one seemed to notice. Only Dr. Marcoh wouldn’t meet my gaze, and I decided to leave it be. I don’t know how much of a connection there was, but he seemed to recognize them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I walked over and asked them where they were from. A man with wild amber eyes told me that it didn’t matter, nothing mattered except where they were going. Several of the Xingans and a few men who looked like civilian researchers told me they were looking for the Philosopher’s Stone. The Drachmans said they were looking for a mountain pass, or for the north pole. The blonde woman just grinned and said she was doing her job, though she didn’t specify what that was. A man with a grungy beard and a makeshift weapon told me he was hunting monsters. A young woman next to him leaned forward, elbows against the table, and told me the world never ran out of bloodsucking beasts to kill, so why not have some fun?</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>I had some semblance of a plan to ask my superiors about it the next day, but Dr. Marcoh had deserted, and I figured it was best to keep my mouth shut.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The second strange thing I saw, a month or so later, was a woman on the battlefield. She wasn’t wearing a uniform, and clearly wasn’t Ishvalan judging from her pale skin, although her features had a certain haze to them, like a mirage. She walked like she knew exactly where she was going, with a self-satisfied smile I could see even from a distance. She was wearing a tank top, but her skin didn’t seem to be sunburned at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>An Ishvalan soldier ran out from behind a nearby building then, hesitating when he saw her. I don’t blame him; she wasn’t exactly a common sight out here, and the three of us looked at each other for a moment, trying to figure out what was going on. And then the woman stepped forward, striding towards him with such a predatory confidence I knew she was going to kill him in the moment before she plunged her hand through his ribs. There was the familiar scent of burning flesh, the one I know all too well, as he writhed in pain. His shirt was slowly burning, and droplets of something like wax oozed from her hand before being sucked back in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked at me, with her hand buried in a dying man’s chest, and made a comment about the weather. I was too stunned to react. The man screamed, and I couldn’t help but notice that the tattoo on her back matched his expression perfectly, from the pain in his eyes to the flames that engulfed him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then she nodded once, stuck her hands in the pockets of her shorts, and walked away. I never saw her again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She might have been some guilt induced hallucination. The flames, the back tattoo— it gets harder and harder to tell the difference between the memories and the nightmares and the flashbacks. But I thought you should know.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>...hell, Roy. You’ve been keeping that in this whole time?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Roy Mustang]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>We all saw things we’d rather forget out there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ll call Gracia and tell her to set an extra plate, then.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Roy Mustang]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>You can go ahead and do it now if you want. I need a moment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course. I’ll be down the hall; give me a shout if you need anything!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[footsteps, door closes]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[a minute passes in relative silence before the door opens again]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Daisy Tonner]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Sir, should I— sorry, I’ll come back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Roy Mustang]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Do I know you?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Daisy Tonner]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Hm, don’t think so. You’re Roy Mustang, right?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Roy Mustang]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>...yeah. You?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Daisy Tonner]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Warrant Officer Alice Tonner. I go by Daisy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Roy Mustang]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>You weren’t in Ishval, were you?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Daisy Tonner]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Unfortunately. Why?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Roy Mustang]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>No reason. Have a lovely day, then.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Daisy Tonner]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>...sure. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[door shuts, Mustang sighs heavily]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Roy Mustang]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Geez, Maes. Learn to turn this creepy thing off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Roy Mustang]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Maes. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>saw her there</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Slow down; what are you talking about?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Roy Mustang]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I saw Warrant Officer Tonner. She was part of the— whatever it was, the group of people who were all searching for something. She’s the woman I initially mistook for Hawkeye.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>...Roy, do you trust my judgment?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Roy Mustang]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Always.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I have an idea of what Daisy is part of. I know how dangerous she is. But for now, I trust her not to kill me.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Roy Mustang]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s what you’re risking your life on? You talk as though she could turn on you at any time—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Roy. It’s out of your hands.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Roy Mustang]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t like it. You need subordinates you can </span>
  <em>
    <span>trust</span>
  </em>
  <span>, damnit. You can’t surround yourself with liabilities.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I know what I’m doing. And if something goes wrong, Basira is my backup plan.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Roy Mustang]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Fine. [pause, rustling of fabric] Stay safe, will you? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course I will. I made a promise, didn’t I?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Roy Mustang]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>And so did I. You— oh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>What?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Roy Mustang]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t trust that tape rec—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[recording ends]</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Warnings for:<br/>-depictions of murder<br/>-war and accompanying emotional baggage</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>I think Mustang and Hughes being in a qpr or platonic soulmates or something is such a cool idea because it strengthens what’s shown on screen rather than rewriting it. Not that I have anything against rewriting canon, as I am a disciple of Marie Kondo and will yeet whatever does not spark joy, but like. Guys can have very close relationships with each other and also have a committed relationship or mutual pining with a woman. Normally we toss female love interests to the side because they’re written as bland and uninteresting by a male author, but FMA was written by a woman and TMA is written by Jonny Sims the king of respecting women and this fic is written by a woman so. Yeah. Queerplatonic rights babey!</p><p>(Also Hawkeye is amazing and I love her)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The resurrection</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>And now things get fun :3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>[Jonathan Sims]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Is that— is that normal?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>They do that. I wouldn’t worry about it too much; stranger things have been known to happen around here.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Sheska Ward]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Like ghosts?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>No ghosts, Miss Ward. Except for maybe the flaming one we had a few years ago, but the description was very vague and she may have been just hustling poor Martin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Martin Blackwood]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I didn’t want to be rude!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Basira Hussain]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>You were pretty much a pushover. I’m not sure you’re capable of being rude.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Martin Blackwood]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>...I’m going out to pick up some more paper.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[door opens and slams shut, followed by muffled Polish swearing]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Basira, stop bullying Martin. Just because it’s true doesn’t mean you should say it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Basira Hussain]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ll apologize when he gets back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Good. In any case, we’ve got a new transfer, and an Archivist! Corporal Sheska Ward is from Central Command, and Private Jonathan Sims is fresh out of university.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Basira Hussain]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Military offered to pay for your college, huh?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Jonathan Sims]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Is it that common?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Basira Hussain]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I mean, you’ve got a posh accent, and you don’t exactly look like you want to be here. I took an educated guess.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Jonathan Sims]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Fair enough. Um, is that just going to keep running, or—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ve got it.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Jonathan Sims]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Statement of Erica Lorraine, regarding strange happenings in the town of Leore. Recorded 3rd February, 1911 by Jonathan Sims, Archivist of Section 31. Statement delivered by mail. Statement begins.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Father Cornello has strongly discouraged speaking to outsiders, but I feel it is my obligation if not as a citizen of this town then as a citizen of Amestris to report the happenings to someone. I have sent variations of this letter to multiple parties, in hopes that at least one will acknowledge and take appropriate action. However, the only party that has true power to make a change, for better or for worse, is you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Let me be clear, in the case that this letter somehow makes it to your hands: I do not like or trust the military, but I find your assistance to be better than the rule of one who defies the natural order. The military may commit murder and call it just, but at least they follow the natural flow of death. It is this flow which Father Cornello has corrupted with his dark arts, beyond alchemy and into the truly unnatural. In summary, you are the lesser evil, and I find it necessary to beseech you for help. I can only hope I am not dooming my town with these words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, death would be preferable to that state of half death which so many of my comrades have been trapped in. I have seen that place, the one he claims is sacred, and the scent of decay from the pit of corpses covered in quicklime and various herbs, pungent but never enough to drown out the creeping rot of flesh. He makes his bargains at a table, and his ring glows with the unholy light of a red sun, and the moans and hisses from torn and rotten throats do little to drown out his chanting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I do not know how many he has traded. He claims that all are welcome under Leto, but conflict lurks below the skin like a boil, ugly and filled with infection, waiting to burst. Those he deems heretics have been beaten in the street in the name of Cornello, and those who sell themselves for lack of anything else to sell are scorned, their disappearances dismissed easily. I have seen the poor on the streets hurry when a devout follower of his passes, ducking their faces as if this may be enough to hide the dirt. There are beatings, violence, lootings, but all covered under tarps by the time morning arrives.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Outsiders are welcomed with eager arms and guided to the church before they can see into the slums and the vacant houses where someone once lived before they disappeared forever, along with anyone who asked questions. Certainly disappearances are not entirely unheard of, but there was a time before Cornello that these were a source of talk, whether it was a runaway, or a child who wandered too far. But now a person can suddenly not exist and we all close ranks, like they never were. I know that they existed. I have seen them flinch when I speak my sister’s name.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cornello will bring her back. That’s what they all say, speaking of a new generation of followers that shall rise, that it does not matter when we vanish from our beds, if life is so cheap. I cannot mourn my sister. The tears will not come until Cornello’s reign is broken and she is freed from the unnatural curse that binds her to her rotted flesh and this awful world of ignorance and suffering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some say they have seen the risen dead. Through veils and mist, across distance, behind a curtain, or a shadow viewed through glass. They are unfinished. They aren’t ready yet. They are delicate. Their hearts will shudder to a stop like clockwork dolls if they move too fast, and their voices sound as though they are speaking from far away. For every half dozen the pit takes, there is another thing that walks on human feet and pretends to be a human. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I have only seen this because there is a hidden place, one where I have watched Cornello perform his rituals. I cannot say whether he has noticed me. But in my attempts to convince my fellows, they have grown concerned. They believe I am a heretic, who must die and be reborn by Leto’s grace. Many have died in this manner, but whether they are truly reborn I do not know. They are not the same. They walk the line of life and death, that razor wire of mortality that scratches their feet, and bleed uncaringly. I would sooner take the darkness of the grave than the flickering light of the pit, or the dim glow of the herbal pools where the unfinished risen lay in wait.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When you find me, I cannot say if you shall stare down at my decaying body amongst that irreverent mass grave in his so called holy place, or whether I will be hidden away elsewhere with lowered voice and restless eyes, or perhaps I shall wait in the city at Father Cornello’s side with a blank smile and an empty soul. It isn’t up to me anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Statement ends.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[several moments of silence precede a shaky sigh]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Jonathan Sims]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I should have just taken the option of crippling debt.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Jonathan Sims]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I wasn’t aware that the military had taken an interest in such statements.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Military’s everywhere, Sims. Section 31 isn’t exactly well regarded, if you know what I mean. Still, we do our best here.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Jonathan Sims]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Hm. Well, I can’t say all of this about half-death is very sound, but regardless, it seems that the priest here is doing some sort of human experimentation. Shouldn’t someone do something?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Leore is technically under our jurisdiction, but the further out from Central you get, the less the military is respected. I’d rather send a covert ops mission before we do anything rash, and the paperwork for that will take time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Jonathan Sims]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Why can’t you just send anyone now?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Honestly, the military isn’t the best at de-escalation. I don’t know if we can send anyone without making things worse.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Jonathan Sims]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>[scoffs] Of course. I shouldn’t have expected anything less.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Hey, the best place to make a change in this country is the inside. You don’t have any room to judge, and like it or not, you’re part of the system for the next two years.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Jonathan Sims]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Do you know anyone...personally? Who could take care of the situation without resorting to violence?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ll see what I can do. There’s a new state alchemist who might be able to sort things out, but I’d prefer to get the lay of the land before doing anything rash. The last thing this country needs is another war out East.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Jonathan Sims]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course. You fought in Ishval, didn’t you?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah. How old were you then?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Jonathan Sims]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Seventeen when it started. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>You don’t look it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Jonathan Sims]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Yes, I hear that quite a bit. Grey hairs and all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Basira can show you around today. I’ve got some calls to make.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Jonathan Sims]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Thank you, sir. Oh, and the tape—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Don’t mind it.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ending notes: I could not find a surname for Sheska and so I gave her one. Anyways, content warnings for:</p><p>-corpses</p><p>-xenophobia</p><p>-cults</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The forsaken child</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>warnings for Nina Tucker and all accompanying emotional baggage. I’m not putting warnings at the end this time because y’all know what happened, and I’m not changing too much, just using a different perspective.<br/>Also! This story would not be what it is without the help of <a>artistfingers</a>, who has been beta reading and helping me along with this! Those of you who have been following me a while (judging by the usernames in the comments, at least a few people have followed me across fandoms) know that they’re not my usual beta, but it’s been a treat to work with them. They’re also writing an FMA crossover which you should definitely check out!<br/>And finally, thank you for all the lovely feedback! I hope to continue being inspired and creating for all of you lovely folks.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Testing, testing… This had better work.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Ed, look! Winry really came through.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah, after she got done complaining that I was ruining her beautiful creation by sticking a tape recorder in it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, you’re not a mechanic, so maybe you shouldn’t have tried to transmute the insides.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>It worked out fine, didn’t it? Geez.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[click]</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>[sigh]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Because Colonel Mustang is a paper pushing bastard who wants detailed mission reports, I guess I’m going to have to use this. It beats trying to write it out; I feel like my other hand’s going to fall off if I keep this up. I’m not going to miss writing left handed when Al and I get our bodies back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The military’s full of stuck-up old geezers who are caught up in their traditions and power plays, but I guess Hughes is nice. No idea what he sees in Mustang, though. Still, his wife’s apple pie was amazing!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gave me the recipe, too. Six cups apples, two tablespoons flour, a the fourths of a cup sugar, half a teaspoon of cinnamon, and a pinch of nutmeg for the filling. I’m going to ask Al to write it down later; he’s been collecting recipes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[click]</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>...I didn’t think my first report would be on this.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Do you want my help?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>No, I… I think I can do it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Ed. You’re allowed to take time to grieve. I miss Nina too.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I said I can do it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>If you’re sure...I’ll leave you to it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[door shuts]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Mission report of Edward Elric, recorded 17th March, 1911. [flipping through notes] regarding… Shou Tucker and his… and his human experimentation on—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[several moments of deep breathing, occasionally interrupted by sobs. Devolves into full on crying and finally is cut off with a click]</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Mission report of Edward Elric, recorded 19th March, 1911. Regarding Shou Tucker and his crimes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[several moments of silence]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Damnit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[click]</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Mission— AUGH! STUPID BASTARD COLONEL AND HIS PRETENTIOUS BUREAUCRACY! </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[loud crash]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>A little girl just— just— and all you care about is your damn mission report. Screw you, Mustang.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[click]</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Mission report of Edward Elric, recorded 23th March, 1911.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We just wanted to find out more about alchemy. Specifically regarding human transmutation. It probably should have been a warning sign that he knew about it— no one should ever mess with that. Science and human life don’t mix, they aren’t—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was nice enough at first, I guess. You’d never know he was a complete sociopath just from looking at him. Guess it’s always the quiet ones or whatever. His library was mostly theoretical stuff, but I found out later that he had a couple handwritten journals of his notes. On what he did to his family. They’re all written in such a detached way...like he didn’t even care how they felt. Science is supposed to help people, damnit. To help us understand the world and make it better, not— ugh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[click]</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Tucker didn’t have much time for his daughter. We thought it was just him being busy with his work, and she was lonely. So yeah, Al and I played with her. Just because we planned to join the military doesn’t mean we were going to sell our souls for it. We played with her on breaks, mostly, tried to manage our time so we could do both. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was always really happy to see us, and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...and she called me her big brother. Al, too. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[several moments of silence; a ceiling fan becomes audible]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[click]</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>The day of the exam, Tucker wished us both luck. I don’t need to tell you what happened then; you can dig up the reports if you want.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Afterwards, I found out that Tucker had burned—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Ed?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>What? I’m recording my report.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Come on. You’ve been holed up here all day. You need to eat something.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m not hungry.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Ed. I may not have felt hunger in a long time, but I don’t think this is natural.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah, well neither is watching Tucker experiment on his own daughter and then being asked to give a damn mission report about it!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[soft thud]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Brother, please.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Fine. I’ll get a snack or something.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I might be a kid, but I’m not stupid. I put the pieces together, of when Tucker’s wife left, the fact that the letters were burned before they reached her, and so I confronted him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he showed me what he’d done to Nina.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was— she—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She said it hurt. She called me big brother.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...sometimes I wonder if Tucker deserved to die for what he did. I’m not sorry I assaulted him. I’ll take whatever punishments there are. Like I said, I never agreed to sell my soul to you military bastards.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Screw it. Al, can you transpose this into something legible for the Colonel?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah, but—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t care.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[click]</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Friendly reminder that Ed is naturally right handed, but had to teach himself to write with his left hand after his right hand was ripped off and replaced with a metal one.<br/>Ugh, this was like pulling teeth. I almost want Jon to come over and yank the statement out of him. Hopefully I’ll get better at writing Ed.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Armed and ready</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>And here ends my buffer! Yes I should have planned this better and no I don't care. I'm also going to be giving each chapter a suitably brief yet ominous title. Warnings are in the ending notes.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Screw the military. Guess I might as well use these tapes for research or something, since I bought so many. I said I needed something to take my mind off things, not to drive home the messed up stuff that Tucker did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m going to see if I can track down Nina’s killer. It’s the least I can do for her, after—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[long, shaky sigh]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>She was like a little sister, damnit. I don’t have much, but I’ve got family, and I’m tired of losing people.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[click]</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>[general chatter of mess hall in background]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, it really does work! How’d you get it to mesh so well with your automail?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I didn’t. Tried alchemy, lost function in the arm, and got chewed out by my mechanic. She made a new one with the tape recorder included. No idea how, I just know it works.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>A mechanic who can combine a tape recorder and automail, huh. That might be useful if anyone in Section 31 loses a limb.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>What, chasing ghost stories? Pfft.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>You’re not exactly one to speak, running after an alchemical legend.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Just saying, you’re not exactly risking life and limb for whatever you do in Section 31.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Rude, coming from someone who gave you access to classified case files.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah, well, now we’re even. Hey, did you turn this on?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah, my bad. It happens a lot.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[click]</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Notes on Edward Elric, recorded 28th March, 1911: he’s so much younger than I expected. I didn’t know that becoming a father would change my instincts so much; I’ve always been sort of a dad friend, but now I’m even more protective of every kid I see. And Ed’s just a kid. It’s not fair that he has to deal with all this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still. The world isn’t fair, and it seems like he’s learning that firsthand. I’m doing my best to give him the guidance he needs, but I don’t know how far I can push without losing his trust. I’m going to keep an eye on him, just in case, but it’s taking all of my training to do it without him noticing me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wonder if this is what I have to look forward to when Elicia is his age. She’s so tiny and sweet right now, but what happens when she’s fifteen and realizes that she’s going to be harassed and underestimated for her gender, or ignored for her youth, or shunned for her beliefs? What do you do when your kid is angry and they have every right to be, but you’re already participating in the system that they hate? Hell, Ed isn’t even my kid and it hurts. He’s grown up too fast already, but he’s got a lot more to go if he’s going to make it here.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[sigh]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Anyways, I’m not looking forward to telling Jon that the promising young state alchemist I was talking about quit the military. I was hoping to see Ed in action a couple times before I sent him into the wolves’ den, and he was on his way to proving himself before he quit. Still, that sort of spark doesn’t go away easily, and I’ve still got hope for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>End recording.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[click]</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m not having much luck. I… can’t really get close to the victims. Too many bad memories. I asked Hughes, and he has a connection in forensics who said rigor mortis and body temperature are giving conflicting results.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m not a forensic scientist, but I think I have enough general knowledge to know where this is headed. If the actual murder and...mutilations occured outside of Central, there must be some sort of vehicle that could...oh. If it had a good enough insulator, or just… ah, hell, why didn’t I see it before?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[click]</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s too late to do any real investigating. I’m going to start early tomorrow morning, and see if I can—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Brother? Who are you talking to?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m recording notes. I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>this close</span>
  </em>
  <span> to cracking the case!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, I’m glad you’re at least eating again. [clanking of armor] I’ll be by the river if you need me.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Do you have something to do there?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I thought it might help clear my head. I’ve got some thinking to do, and it’s not like I can sleep anyways.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Right. [long pause, shifting of fabric.] Are you going to be okay?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I hope so.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Good night, Al.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Good night, Brother.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[click]</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Note to self: Hughes mentioned something about—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[slow, heavy knocking]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>What do you want?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Breekon]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>We’re here to deliver a package.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>All right, I’m coming. Geez, this had better not be Winry harassing me about maintenance from a distance.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[door is unlatched and opened]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Hope]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Are you Edward Elric?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah, that’s me. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Breekon]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Sign here.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Hang on, let me find a pen or someth—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[a heavy blow lands; Ed’s coughing and wheezing can be heard for a moment before a second blow hits and he crumples to the floor]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Hope]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>You’re the delivery. Can’t have you taking yourself elsewhere.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Breekon]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Won’t need this where you’re going.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[the sound of metal slowly crumpling is amplified; the tape recorder cuts off with an anticlimactic click]</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>[sounds of chains gently clinking and a rotary saw ripping into metal]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Barry the Chopper]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Ooooooo, that’s an interesting feature!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Hn— what the hell?!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[sounds of Ed struggling against chains]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Barry the Chopper]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, you’re awake! Quite a fascinating arm you’ve got there. Word is on the street you can use it to transmute without a circle.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Give it back, you sick freak!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Barry the Chopper]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, I don’t think I will. See, I’ve been looking for something like this for a while now. You’re not complete, but somehow your flesh thinks you are, and that’s why you can do alchemy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>What kind of ableist bull—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[thud of a knife meeting flesh, followed by a pained gasp from Ed]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Barry the Chopper]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Don’t interrupt me; I’m telling my story! Last time I tried this, I didn’t get it quite right. It turns out my young apprentice just wasn’t as devoted to the craft as I was. But I figured out what I was missing! It’s almost counter-intuitive, really. In order to summon the Flesh, you need something that’s not flesh, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>believes </span>
  </em>
  <span>it is.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Summon the flesh? What the hell are you talking about?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Barry the Chopper]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, you’ll see! Or maybe you won’t. [clatter of metal against concrete] I actually don’t know if you’ll survive the ritual! If you do, though, I’ll make sure to have </span>
  <em>
    <span>lots </span>
  </em>
  <span>of fun slicing you up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[wet sucking sound as the knife is yanked out of Ed’s flesh; Ed inhales sharply but does not cry out]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>What kind of twisted monster enjoys hurting people like that?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Barry the Chopper]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Am I a monster for following the path I’ve discovered? I just do what makes me happy! And it’s not the pain in their faces I enjoy; no, the siren call of their flesh is just too much to resist! I first discovered it when my wife was nagging me, and I accidentally chopped her up into tiny little pieces! Human meat, animal meat, it’s all the same. Once you slice it, you can’t even tell the difference!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s not true!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Barry the Chopper]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Really? Well, what makes people so special? They pretend to have rules and morals, but it’s all a lie! The wealthy and powerful claim to be the most civilized of all, and yet they gladly treat the common folks like little less than animals. They make rules to keep the downtrodden down, and justify it by saying we’re all equal, so the poor must be just lazy. And all at once, every marker of progress that we humans have is just a sign that we’re nothing more than meat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>That isn’t— you can’t use the fact that the world isn’t perfect to justify senseless violence!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Barry the Chopper]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Really? I just happen to be a step higher than you on the food chain, that’s all. There’s no right or wrong, only soap bubbles piloting flesh suits until the day we pop!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>That isn’t— you’re not—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Barry the Chopper]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>See, life is worthless. You’re worth less than a pig! Good meat, a good sacrifice, but small and insignificant. Look at all this!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>No! You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span>!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Barry the Chopper]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Am I? Am I </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span>, when—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[there’s an echoing thud, then the sound of a body crumpling to the ground, and a knife clattering to the floor]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Hey, Ed. Sorry I’m late; I had a hell of a time trying to track you here.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Hughes? What are you doing here?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Chasing a ghost story, obviously. Sorry you got mixed up in all of this. Hold on—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[a sharp snap, and the chains fall to the ground]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>There.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>How did—?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ll fill you in later. Can you attach your automail?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah, think so, but it won’t be much use. It’ll just hang there, since the nerves won’t— gah!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Ed! What happened?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Couple of the nerves connected. Not all. Something must have gotten knocked loose. I’ll have Winry fix it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Good. For now, we should focus on getting out of the blast radius.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Blast radius? What do you mean—?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Come on.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[thudding footsteps]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Major, I—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ll explain later.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>You mean you’re going to blow it up?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[footsteps stop]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Trust me when I say there are worse things out there than a serial killer. You saw the center of the ritual, right?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>A little. It was dark, and—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>The thing he was trying to summon would have destroyed the city at the least. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This</span>
  </em>
  <span> is what I do in Section 31, Ed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>O—okay.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[footsteps resume, slower this time]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Careful: try not to bump your—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[click]</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ending notes:</p><p>Warnings for:</p><p>-gore</p><p>-knife violence</p><p>-abduction</p><p>-discussions of corpses</p><p>-the Flesh</p><p>-emotional manipulation </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>I love Hughes, I really do.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Death's Door</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey, wanted to warn for suicide in this chapter. Rest of the warnings are at the bottom, I just thought that was a heavy one that doesn’t really spoil much. Read responsibly.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>[Winry Rockbell]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>It still works? Even after all it’s been through?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Your craftsmanship is amazing, that’s why.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Winry Rockbell]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Don’t think flattery is going to get you out of this, Ed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah, well, it wasn’t my fault this time!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Winry Rockbell]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>And choosing to reattach your arm? You could have permanently damaged the nerves! </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, I didn’t want to lose the tape in case it was evidence, and I’ve done it before plenty of times! I didn’t think to check the port for damage.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Winry Rockbell]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Didn’t think? After the casing got crushed and it was messily sawn off, you didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>think</span>
  </em>
  <span>?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Winry.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Winry Rockbell]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>What?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Ed went through a lot yesterday, and it wasn’t his fault. Don’t tease him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Winry Rockbell]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>...Sorry, Al. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[sounds of Winry working; gentle thuds of tools being set down, squeaking of screws, occasional rustling of wire]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Winry Rockbell]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>What exactly happened, Ed? Was it related to the explosion downtown?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s nothing you need to worry about. I’m fine now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[Winry sighs]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Winry Rockbell]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Fine. Keep your secrets. Just take some spares in case you get in trouble again, okay?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah, sure.[Ed sighs; winry continues working, occasionally moving pieces of metal across a wooden surface] Hey, is the tape running?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Winry Rockbell]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>...huh. Looks like it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[click]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Notes on Edward Elric, recorded 3nd April, 1911: all things considered, I think he handled yesterday pretty well. His arm was malfunctioning pretty bad when we left— I’m not sure exactly what Barry did to it, but it looked like he regretted attaching it. I’d figured it would be easier if Ed didn’t need to carry it, but I probably should have anticipated it being damaged. I’ll do some more research on automail so I can avoid mistakes like this in the future.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The first brush with death is always the hardest, but he’s got good people by his side. Al came running as soon as he heard the news, and he called his mechanic, Winry for repairs. She’s a childhood friend of the brothers, and seemed very concerned about Edward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s a very talented young lady, and she tried to explain the automail to me when I picked her up from the train station. I can’t say I understood most of it, but she gave me her business card, and I promised to send some customers her way if the opportunity arose. Seeing as the Flesh has been especially active lately, that might happen sooner than I’d like.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ve given Ed the bare minimum of information; that Barry was attempting a ritual to summon something very old and very dangerous into this world. I’m not sure how much of it he believed, but after seeing what Barry did, it’s difficult to deny. Ed said it was too dark to make out the center of it, but frankly, seeing any sort of ritual is disturbing even to someone like me.. At the very least, he accepted that the entire thing was rotten and needed to be blown up. Hopefully he won’t pry deeper than he has to; he’s got his own goals, and fulfilling them comes before chasing the supernatural. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I can’t deny that it’s a bit ironic how he uses the same sort of tape recorder as Section 31; when I asked, he said it was for mission reports. For all its benefits, automail doesn’t lend itself well to handwriting, and he told me it was more practical to record orally. I can only hope I haven’t tainted it by my presence near him; I’ve done my best to keep the Beholding at arm’s length, but some things are just unavoidable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He did mention, however, that he’s taking a break from meat for a little while. Al gave him a lecture on complete proteins and Winry complained that he doesn’t drink enough milk, and they were still bickering when I left. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ll ask Gracia to cook something without meat once Ed is discharged. She’s been meaning to try out her mom’s quiche recipe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>End recording.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[dull background noise of a train rumbling along the tracks]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Mission report of Edward Elric, recorded 15th May, 1911, regarding an expedition to Leore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Honestly, I don’t know why I have to report this— I’m going for Hughes and a possible lead on the stone, not the military. But I figured it would be easier to record as I go.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Honestly, this whole town screams sketchy to me. It looks decent up close, and a welcoming committee came and tried to convert me. They weren’t terribly happy when I said I was an atheist and had no intention of changing that, but apparently they have faith that I will find the light of Leto.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m going to try and explore the outskirts of town, and see if I can get some answers. I’m going off the tape Hughes gave me, and while I’m not sure how much of it I believe, every legend has a grain of truth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Excuse me! Do you know anything about—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Citizen]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Get out of here. Now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Hey, hold on a minute!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Citizen]</b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Leave</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Before it’s too late.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I haven’t found much yet. I thought I could figure out how people keep disappearing from their houses, but it’s like they just up and left. I’ve been yelled at twice for exploring the empty houses, but both times the person yelling at me ran away. I’m starting to think that even if Cornello isn’t involved in the supernatural, he’s convinced these people he is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m going to start looking closer to the church tomorrow, see if the rest of the town has the same opinions. I haven’t explored enough to know for sure, but it looks like the church of Leto is in the wealthiest part of town, right in the middle.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[long pause, filled with crickets chirping]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Surprise change of plans! After seeing Cornello perform fake miracles with a Stone and gaslight a local girl, I’ve decided to beat the answers out of him!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Ed, you know this is an official military report, right?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah, and that makes it Mustang’s problem. You ready?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[metallic, physically impossible sigh from Al]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m ready.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Brother Cray]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>This way. Father Cornello has graciously offered to share some of his precious time with you.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah, I’m grateful! He must be busy, with all those miracles he does around here.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Brother Cray]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Exactly. So we’ll make this quick. [click of gun being cocked]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Rosé Thomas]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Brother Cray, what— what are you doing?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Brother Cray]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Stay away from those two, Rosé. They’re heretics who have come to blaspheme the name of Leto!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>We don’t want to fight, but we will if we have to.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Listen, I’m just here to talk to that creepy priest of yours and find out what he’s been doing. If you want to get in my way, fine by me.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[Ed claps, and there’s the sound of a transmutation and a metallic </span>
  <em>
    <span>shnk</span>
  </em>
  <span> as he turns his arm into a sword]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Brother Cray]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>No need for that, when a demonstration is worth a thousand words. See how Cornello rewards his most loyal followers!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Rosé Thomas]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>No!</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Hey, don’t do—!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[A gunshot impacting flesh echoes, then a body falls to the ground]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Shit! Al—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t know! Stop the bleeding or something!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>There— there’s so much— [awful squelching sound] It’s— damnit, you’re not going to die on me! Not like this!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Rosé Thomas]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Why...this isn’t—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>This is what happens when the entire town is a goddamn cult, Rosé!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Rosé Thomas]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>No! This isn’t what Letoism is about!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>It was never about Leto, it was always about Cornello. Hell, it’s— it’s coming so fast, why didn’t I study healing alchemy—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m sorry, Rosé.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Rosé Thomas]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>This isn’t how it’s supposed to be...it’s...hope. Religion should be about hope, and he—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I know.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>...he’s gone. I lost him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[sharp gasp from Al]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Ed, look! His hand moved!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>...Al, his heart isn’t beating. That’s not possible.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[raspy growl torn from tattered lungs; rush of blood splattering to floor, ominous thump]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Get—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[heavy breathing, squeaking of cloth against metal]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>If I can just get the blood out from— there. I think it’s working again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>How is that even possible?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, I guess. I’ll have to ask Winry to give this a good cleaning, or swap out for one of the spares.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Are you okay, Rosé?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Rosé Thomas]</b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>...No</span>
  </em>
  <span>. How can I be?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Guess that’s fair. Just hold on, okay? I’ve got a plan. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>What if you run into the...</span>
  <em>
    <span>thing</span>
  </em>
  <span> that—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Rosé Thomas]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>His name was Cray. He used to be a friend of my dad’s, and he was the one who fixed my roof five years ago when we had that big storm. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>The thing that used to be Cray, then.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ll try to avoid it. It’s pretty slow; did you notice how it moved? It’s strong enough, but only fast in short bursts. Better suited for grappling and ambush than a fair fight.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Doesn’t that mean it’s probably hiding in wait?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah, well, I can take it. Already fended it off once, and this time I’m prepared. Al, you’ve got some extra tape recorders, right?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>There should be two inside my chest plate. Um, Rosé doesn’t know about—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Right. Want to explain it, or should I?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Rosé Thomas]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Explain what?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>We’ll do it together. Rosé, please don’t freak out at what I’m about to show you, okay? I’m still a person, no matter what.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[Al’s armor softly swings open, and Rosé gasps]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Brother and I attempted to bring our mom back using human transmutation. It didn’t work, and this is the consequence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not just Al who lost something. I lost my leg in the rebound, and gave up my arm to get Al’s soul back. This is the price you pay for trying to mess with death, Rosé. People who get too close to the sun are going to get burned.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Rosé Thomas]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Did you…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[long, uncomfortable pause]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Rosé Thomas]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>...succeed?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>No.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>The thing we brought back was barely human. And it died shortly after.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Rosé Thomas]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>So...there’s really no way to bring someone back to life?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>If their soul has already passed through the gate, then it’s too late. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Rosé Thomas]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>What am I supposed to live for, then? I have nothing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Live out of spite until you find a reason. Claw your way through life until you find something that’s worth dying for, and then fight for it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Rosé Thomas]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>C—can you help me?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course we can.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I can help you to your feet, but only you can start walking.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Rosé Thomas]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Okay. [Rosé takes several deliberate, shuddering breaths] Okay. I think I can do that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Good. You go with Al; I’m going to confront Cornello, and make sure everyone knows what he’s been doing. Al, you know what to do?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah. The usual channel sound good?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Yep. I’ll see you soon.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Rosé Thomas]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Is Edward going to be safe?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Once Brother has his mind made up, there’s no changing it. I’ve learned to just go with the flow. Besides, Teacher taught us both how to fight. We can take care of ourselves.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Rosé Thomas]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>...okay. I guess there’s really nothing I can do about it anyways, so why worry? Heh. Useless.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s not true!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Rosé Thomas]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>We don’t have time for this, do we? We’ve got to reach the top for your plan.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Even so, you shouldn’t put yourself down like that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Rosé Thomas]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>...oh. I switched this on, didn’t I?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Rosé? Are you okay?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Rosé Thomas]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Clumsy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Father Cornello]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Wh— where are the guards?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah, I took care of ‘em on the way in. You’re a hard man to meet with, Cornello.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Father Cornello]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Hm. So what is it you want from me?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I want the truth. About that stone on your finger, about all the people who just vanished from their beds, and about that pit in the other room.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Father Cornello]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>The truth, is it? [heavy footsteps approach] I’ve heard about you. Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist. A child with golden hair and eyes, and wisdom beyond his years.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Don’t you </span>
  <em>
    <span>dare</span>
  </em>
  <span> call me a child.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Father Cornello]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>No harm intended, Edward. Do you know how special you are? An alchemist whose appearance matches the legends of the mythical Eastern Sage, and with enough talent to fool the masses. Sadly, you don’t seem to have the charisma needed, but between the two of us, this town could be ours! You’re looking for this stone, aren’t you? You can have it. Soon I won’t even need it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>...no.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Father Cornello]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>No? Well, what do you want? All this town has to offer is at your fingertips.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I said NO! I’m not becoming some sort of religious figurehead for you to manipulate people with just because of something as stupid as how I look. Not when you don’t care how many people disappear for whatever sick game you’re playing. That’s what the pit is for, isn’t it? The one full of people who aren’t quite dead, even though their bodies are decaying. And that’s why Cray started moving around and trying to kill me after he died.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Father Cornello]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Apologies, but they are necessary sacrifices for my patron. And they won’t die— not until their minds have been expended, at least.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Patron, huh? So you’ve got someone who’s giving you orders?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Father Cornello]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Not orders, but power. And I wouldn’t call my patron a someone…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Heh. Well, seeing as you just revealed your secrets to the whole town, I don’t really care who you serve. I’ll deal with them next!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Father Cornello]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>You sneaky little— you were recording this whole time!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Recording </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>broadcasting.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Father Cornello]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Don’t listen to him! It’s a trick to challenge your faith!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah, right.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Father Cornello]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Give that he—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[click]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Continued mission report of Edward Elric: after Cornello was exposed, the town’s been a bit messy. People are starting to realize that they believed in a fraud, and I’ve tried giving some advice, but I’m an outsider. There’s only so much I can do. Rosé has been helpful, though. She’s quiet, but when she speaks, people listen. She gave a speech yesterday about processing grief, and it made most of the crowd cry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>People here talk about a utopia, a rebuilt society. There’s no such thing, but Rosé just shook her head when I told her that. Said the people need to dream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I haven’t heard from Cornello since the transmutation rebounded— people are tearing down the statues, and he’s still holed up in his tower. Someone broke the glass yesterday by throwing bricks, and I remember there was a little boy who asked why. Why throw bricks when you could use them to build new houses. The person who threw the brick said they knew that, but sometimes you have to tear down the old one first. The boy shrugged, put a brick in each pocket, and started walking home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>….yeah, there’s no way I’m giving this to Mustang. He’d accuse me of being sentimental. Hughes, if you’re listening, tell your Archivist he’s got nothing to worry about. I’ll see you soon.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Hey, Hughes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Edward! How are you doing?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah, just took down the priest of Leore. It was, uh… well, I promise I won’t tease you about Section 31 being low risk anymore, okay? You can listen to the tapes if you want later.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I appreciate it. And the stone? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>It turned out to be another dead end. It ran out of energy and rebounded on Cornello, then disintegrated in front of me.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Sorry to hear that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Hey, can I ask a favor? I met someone here who wants to get out of town and make a fresh start, but she doesn’t have much. Could you help her get back on her feet?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Who do you think I am, Ed? Of course I’ll help. But you’ve got to stop by for a visit, you hear? Elicia misses you.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>All right, all right.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>See you then!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>****</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Envy]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>What’s this? Did the Fullmetal pipsqueak leave one of his toys behind?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Father Cornello]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>This— this isn’t— I swear—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Lust]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Save it, old man. We don’t have time for your excuses. You really thought you could play both sides?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Father Cornello]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I— get back! Or I’ll use this on you!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Lust]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>You can </span>
  <em>
    <span>try.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Father Cornello]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>DIE!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[a flare of static begins to grow; Cornello is breathing heavily from exertion, and Envy begins to chuckle.]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Envy]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, you stupid, foolish human. I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>die.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Death is for the weak.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Father Cornello]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Why— why isn’t it working?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Envy]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Because I’m not afraid. But you should be.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[flesh swells and bubbles; stone cracks and falls. Cornello’s scream is cut off with a sickeningly moist crunch of bones breaking]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Lust]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Hm. Another dead end. Let’s move on.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Other content warnings:<br/>-description of corpses<br/>-gore<br/>-murder, implied eating of humans<br/>-religious cults<br/>-gun violence</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Oh yeah, I forgot how much I disliked some of Ed’s advice. I mean Rosé lost both of her parents, the guy she was in love with, the faith that kept her going, and then she begged the cynical atheist who destroyed her faith for help. And then Ed tells her to get up and walk? Like seriously, Ed at least had the Rockbells to help him. Rosé has nothing. At least acknowledge your privilege, dude. You have a family, she doesn’t. So I’m sending her in the direction of the best dad in the series. No this wasn’t planned and I have no idea how it’ll affect the plot.</p><p>Rosé is...coping. She’s not coping well per se but she’s trying.</p><p>In other news, I think this changes things! Feel free to shout your theories as to what this new development means.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Scarred</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings at the end. This is going to be a fun one =)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>[Roy Mustang]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Does it have to be on?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Half the time, I don’t even touch it. It’s usually best to just let it happen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Roy Mustang]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>trust</span>
  </em>
  <span> what’s happening.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a lot of strange stuff that happens here, and the tape recorders are the least of it. They’re a useful tool, and frankly, the lesser evil.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Roy Mustang]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>...okay. I trust you.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I know.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Roy Mustang]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Speaking of tapes, this was recovered from what remained of Fullmetal’s arm. Fuery couldn’t get anything out of it, but I thought you might be able to.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ll see what I can extract from it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Roy Mustang]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>You think it might be related to your… to Section 31?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>If I can get something coherent out of the tape, then yes. If not, then Scar’s just your run-of-the-mill alchemic serial killer. [long sigh] God, when did life get so messy?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Roy Mustang]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Probably when we got drafted. Want me to check the dates?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ll pass; you’d probably get lost in the stacks anyways.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Roy Mustang]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Good night, Maes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Night! Don’t forget to actually get sleep!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Roy Mustang]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>That was </span>
  <em>
    <span>one time</span>
  </em>
  <span> and you know it!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[the door shuts with slightly more force than necessary]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>You mean I only </span>
  <em>
    <span>caught</span>
  </em>
  <span> you pulling an all nighter the one time. [sigh, shuffling of paper] Well, let’s see if you can interpret this, shall we?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[click]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Hey, Al?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>When I was confronting Cornello. I saw… I saw what he was doing. The pit full of bodies, what he was doing to Cray and the others. I don’t know how I understood it, but I knew he wasn’t going through the gate to do it. And I </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew </span>
  </em>
  <span>that the gate was angry with him for it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>You don’t think you’re… I mean, how is this possible?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t know. I don’t know how I knew it, but I did. The gate is where I learned to transmute like this, so it’s a start, right? If Cornello was able to mess with death without using the gate, then maybe there’s another way to perform human transmutation! I get the feeling Hughes knows a lot more about this than he’s letting on.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah, and you almost died the first time you got involved! We already paid the price once with science; we can’t risk it again with the supernatural or whatever that was. At least we know science. If we go running in blind, it’ll turn out worse.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah, you’re right. I just...keep thinking about it. All those people...</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[rain begins to fall with a gentle patter on the pavement, and a more pronounced echo on Al’s armor]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>They weren’t dead. But they were terrified of it. And when they went numb, when they had nothing left to give, they just…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Brother.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Huh? [footsteps approach steadily] Hey, do you need someth—  </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Scar]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist. I’ve come to— </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Brother, run!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>— right!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[heavy breathing and pounding of footsteps, one solid, the other echoing. Somewhere nearby, there is a great rumble of stone shuddering and bursting apart with a violent crash]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Hang on, Brother!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Let go! He’s right behind— </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[Al screams in pain, but it is lost in the rushing wind]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Al!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[a sudden impact sends a garbled rush of static through the recording, then the echo of a crash and the scraping of metal against stone]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Are you okay?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah, I think you took the worst of it. What about you?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s okay. He didn’t get anywhere near my blood seal.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ll fix you up later, okay? I’ll— I’ll fix everything—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Brother!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Scar]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>You can’t escape your fate that easily.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[a crackling transmutation grows in volume, and Ed cries out in surprise before there’s the sound of brick bursting apart]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Screw you; I don’t believe in fate! </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[a clap, then the sound of a transmutation and a soft whoosh of air. Scar’s coughing fades into the distance as Ed and Al’s footsteps accelerate, transitioning from cobblestone to grass and then back]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Do you know him?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I—  I don’t know, maybe? He shouldn’t have any reason to </span>
  <em>
    <span>kill </span>
  </em>
  <span>me!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>You don’t exactly avoid making enemies, though.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, don’t start with that!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[relative silence as Ed mentally catalogues how many people in the world would like to kill him, and swears under his breath as the number is not exactly low]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[rumbling stone and rushing air]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Hang on!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Scar]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Not so fast!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[there is the sound of stone breaking apart, then a transmutation and the shredding of fabric]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Nice try, but I’ve got the best mechanic in Amestris.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[a sharp intake of breath from Ed; air rushes past, and then Al’s armor clanks and it sounds </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span>]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[metal shatters. If you listen closely, you can hear Ed’s heart doing the same thing]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>You </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>shouldn’t have done that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[Ed’s footsteps grow rapid and erratic; he makes several wild swings, none of them impacting. His breathing is ragged, punctuated by gaps and pauses]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[a sound like lightning cracking a cliff splits the air, and the metal of Ed’s arm clatters to the ground in pieces]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[there’s a garbled mess of metal shattering and static, which fades to a low hum. The audio sounds fuzzy and far away]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[Ed’s breathing is shallow, rapid, immediately next to the tape recorder and almost drowning out all else]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Scar]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>This is the end for you.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>If I stay here...if I let you kill me...will you promise not to hurt Alphonse?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Scar]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>My quarrel is only with state alchemists.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Alphonse Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Brother, no! What are you doing? Get up and </span>
  <em>
    <span>run!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Edward Elric]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Shut up, Al! I’m doing this for you!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Scar]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Then I pray that you will be judged fairly in the eyes of Ishvala, and that—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[two gunshots ring out, and Scar’s footsteps can be heard as he leaps back.]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Roy Mustang]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s enough, Scar. I take it you know who I am?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Scar]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>The Flame Alchemist, Roy Mustang. How kind of you to offer yourself up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Roy Mustang]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Nice try, but your killing spree ends now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Scar]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Fine by me!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Riza Hawkeye]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Sir, you—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[a rush of footsteps, and the crackle of Scar’s alchemy, then a scuffle and multiple gunshots]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Roy Mustang]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Come on, Hawkeye, what the hell was that for?!?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Riza Hawkeye]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Don’t forget, you’re useless on rainy days.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>U̵̹̫̟̗̣̮̼̲̥͌̈́s̴̥͋̑̓̈́̀̊̽̏̂͠ȩ̸̢̢̤͔̘̪̜̥̝̙̬̤̪̓̀̌̓̏̽̉ͅl̶̜̬̘̅̃̊͛̊̔̐̾̒̀̽͑̂̕e̵̡͙̼̣͂̏̀͆̽s̶̝͔͓̝̮̥̱̹̼̘̳͇͙̦̍̏s̷͎͎̭̦̺̰̈́̆̊̈͂̈—̵̳͓̜͍͆͗͌̃̓͜</span>
</p><p>
  <span>̴̧͖̘̘͍͙͖̰͇̮͈̠͂͒͆͛̃̒̊̓̍̅͋̚̕̚͜͝</span>
</p><p>
  <span> ̴̱̳̗́        C̶̰͕̦͕̺̜̮͉̭̲̱̙͈̓̉̿͂̾̏̃̋̏̅͠͝ͅȯ̴̢͍̬͖͕̤̳̩̲̯u̴̜͙̹̻̹̰̠̹̦̬̪̖̱͒̎̂́͂̊̽̈̊̅͘͝l̴̡̻̭̻̼͖͉̫̹̰̤̳̲̲̀̏͆ͅd̸̛̦̹̻͙̜̫̻̹̓̌̉̓͆͐̊̋̊̃̾̋̉͠n̶̺̮̪̩͉̔͌̆̽̉͠’̴̡̖̹̞̮̞̼̠̳̫̿̔͑̿̍̍̓͐͒̒͜ͅţ̸̻̫͔̬͕̦͉͖͚̭̙̯̒͒̎͆͗̑̔̈́—̴͔̫̟͔̭̺͎͆̎̒͂̈͑̂͂̇̇̽͌͊͝</span>
</p><p>
  <span>̶̛͚̼͔͕̮̰̪̘͎̠̒͒̿̌͆̈͆</span>
</p><p><span>̶̨̨͍̩̔̎͋̔̍̉̈́̍͋̐</span>     <span>Ä̶̧̦̬̯̘̝́̓̒̐͛̅̍͌͗̌̐̚̚͝l̶̛̜̲͕͔̘̯̈́̎̍̒̀̓̓͠ͅ—̸͇͓͚͉͛̓̈́̏̆̓̍̊̄̌</span></p><p>
  <span>̷̨͚͆̈́̒͐̋̂̓̍̅͘</span>
</p><p>
  <span> ̴̺̤̲̭̰̎̎͊͠               P̶̡̭̫͉͖̗̠̅͂̍̓̉͘͠ ľ̷̢̜̝͖̘͚̱͕͐͛̈̃̊̆̇͝͝͝ ę̸̞̈́͊̿̅͘ͅ ā̷͈̟̙̱̝̥͙͎̗̬̺̀͜ s̶̨̧̱̫̬̭͍̦͇̞̈́͆̐̃̈́͒̀͂͛͝͠ͅͅ ė̷̹͙̼̦̩͕̋͜ͅ —̸̠̦͇͖̞̲̆̿̏</span>
</p><p>
  <span>̶̧̳̮̦̫̩̀̽̐̈́̈́͂</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>[click]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Ed… I’m so sorry.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[click]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Notes on Edward Elric; I think it’s time I started telling him more of the truth, if only because of what’s now hunting him. I’ll record a tape for him; given his lifestyle, I don’t think the backup tapes for any of my assistants will work. He needs to know how to fight the Powers. If he’s been chosen as the Hunted, then he’s going to need all the help he can get.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s already been marked by Death once, and now again by the Flesh. And as much as I hate it, he needs to know. Between his search for the Philosopher’s stone and his encounters with the entities, he’s in too deep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>... I only sent him on the mission against Cornello because I thought he’d be safer there. He has experience with the End, and he knows how to fight. But I wonder if I’m any better than the military I serve, sending children into battle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I knew there would be sacrifices to make. But I can’t let Ed be one of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>End recording.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>[click]</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Ed. If you’re listening to this, well, I guess it means you still trust me. I can’t see why; I’m the one who got you into this mess. But there are some things you need to know. About this world, and the… entities that leave their mark on it. You have your own quest, I know, and that means you’re not going to fight my battles. I don’t want you to. But you should know how to defend yourself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Don’t travel alone. This will keep you safe from most predatory Avatars, and from the Lonely. You’ve got your brother, and I hope that’ll be enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If you find a book marked “from the library of Jurgen Leitner”, do NOT open it. It will kill you at </span>
  <em>
    <span>best.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Burn it, and if it doesn’t burn, seal it in lead and bury it. Basira can show you the place where we dispose of them. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>ask Daisy or even mention it to her. Daisy is… still recovering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If you encounter a strange creature of any sort, and deem it dangerous, the best way to neutralize it is to seal it in cement. You can do this alchemically or otherwise, it doesn’t matter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If you…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>[long sigh]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ll try this again tomorrow. Don’t suppose there’s any chance you could help me out like you do the statement givers, express everything neatly and concisely? Preferably without stealing my soul.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[tape recorder whirs]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Maes Hughes]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>...yeah. That’s what I thought. Sorry, but I’ve got a wife and kid, and I’ll die before they look at me with fear in their eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>[click]</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Warnings for:<br/>-FMA canon typical violence<br/>-gun violence</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Porcelain</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>heyo what the heck is up, sorry it took so long i'm dissociating my way through college and my brain feels like it's full of bees. Time to beat my schedule into some semblance of order with the power of color coding! anyways, here's the next chap, warnings are at the end 'cause this one earns that graphic depictions of violence tag, feedback fuels me, quarantine is a bitch and i'm slowly going feral.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>[Jonathan Sims]</b>
</p><p>Statement of Nicholas Clementi, regarding a series of encounters with a strange customer at his place of employment. Statement given 7th November, 1904, and committed to tape 19th May, 1911. Statement recorded by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of Section 31.</p><p>Statement begins.</p><p>Looking back, I want to tell you that there were signs, but honestly the strangest thing about her was her age. I’d have guessed she was a university student, except that Allison and Jack both swore up and down that they’d never seen her in any of their classes. We’re not the type of place that markets to the younger crowd, but her mannerisms and habits blended right in. She was an old soul, I suppose. She was soft spoken, polite, and dressed in cardigans and knee length woolen skirts with her hair tucked into a new hat every time I saw her. She’d sit at her usual spot in the corner, nearly out of sight, and then ask for a peppermint hot chocolate. Never “the regular”, but the same order, every time. I once suggested she try coffee so that she didn’t feel burned out on it, but she just smiled and said she was fine the way she was. Each time, she paid with a hundred cenz bill and told me to keep the change.</p><p>I called her the Tuesday girl in my head, because she never gave me a name. She spent most of her stays scribbling in a notebook and clutching it tightly to her chest whenever someone passed by, or just huddled there, looking like she was trying to make herself as small as possible. I got the impression she was a bit possessive, to be honest; she’d give this blank, judgemental stare if anyone tried to take her mug before she left, and I swear she hissed at a man once for stepping on the strap of her purse. </p><p>She was something of a curiosity, and the fact that she clammed up about her private life whenever someone tried to make small talk only heightened the sense of mystery. We occasionally joked that she was secretly immortal. I mean, she talked and dressed far beyond her years, so it would make sense. Georgie always gave us these weird looks when we said that, but we didn’t pay her much mind.</p><p>This continued for about seven months, until the end of October. That’s when, on a Thursday afternoon, she walked into her usual spot and sat down. I had been idly wondering why she didn’t show up last Tuesday, and nearly didn’t recognize her. Her hair was down and her hoodie was drawn around her face, and she didn’t have her notebook with her. I probably wouldn’t have recognized her if she hadn’t sat in that exact spot, the one that’s barely visible unless you know where to look for it. I approached her table cautiously, and saw for the first time that her eyes were puffy and bloodshot. I asked if she wanted anything, and she looked me dead in the eyes for the first time I can remember.</p><p>She said she wanted it all to stop. Then she scoffed and said, <em> but that’s beyond your power to give me, so how about something to justify my presence here a little longer. Like always. </em></p><p>She held out a hundred cenz bill, and I swear it felt like a contract, like if I touched it I’d be bound to something. It was crisp against my skin, like it was so clean I’d be burned, and I carefully placed it in my apron. Her eyes seemed to bore into me accusingly, and for a moment I swore she knew about all of the gossip, that we’d made jokes about the Tuesday girl, that we’d reduced her to a harmless little legend rather than a genuine person who could have problems. </p><p>I quickly left, and got her the hot chocolate, extra large even though she had ordered a medium. I figured it would be an apology, but when I came back, she’d been joined by someone, a broad man with a heavy accent and a nametag on his overalls identifying him as Hope. I waited hesitantly with the mug, certain that she was going to snap and shove this fully grown man twice her size into the wall, but she just laughed, and then leaned in and said something solemnly. Her eyes found me again, and her face lit up with a manic glee. She gestured for me to come, and I did, first checking the clock. I’m not sure if you’ve worked in customer service, but it’s just something that we do when we’re wondering if our shift will be over. I had a little over two hours until closing time, I told myself, and I could make it through. I’d dealt with worse.</p><p>That’s when things got strange. She took the mug from me and raised it as if in a toast. The man sitting next to her nodded in agreement, and she chugged the entire thing in one go. This was a girl who wore cardigans and took little sips and wrote with a fountain pen, and often blew on her drink to cool it, and this was so out of character that I froze for a moment.</p><p>She took this as her cue to eat the mug— and I mean she <em> ate </em> it. Snapped off pieces with her teeth and ground them up, bit by bit, then grinned at me with blood dribbling from her mouth. The blood kept coming and coming, staining her sweatshirt, pooling on the table, running down her legs in little rivulets, and this whole time she stared at me, like she was drinking in my horror and relishing it. I may not be a med student, but that was too much blood, far too much. It couldn’t possibly have all come from her, but it did. Like a waterfall. It dripped to the ground, and every drop made a plinking sound as it hit the floor, and it turned into a song, and then the song was on pipes and it was moving and it was everywhere. I couldn’t escape. She just kept bleeding impossibly, that cheerful, mocking, distorted tune.</p><p>I should have cried out, I should have stopped her, I should have done something. But— and I swear I’ve never touched drugs, I only drink sometimes in the evenings with my friends, and I was dead sober when this happened— the world felt wrong. There’s a famous painting I read about as a kid, the Unknowing, where no matter how long you stare at the canvas, it doesn’t make sense. Doctors use it to represent what a stroke feels like, where sensory input physically can’t be processed. This wasn’t a stroke— I checked afterwards— but that’s the closest I can get to describing it. </p><p>I looked, but the shapes weren’t anything I recognized, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make anything coherent out of it. Only this swaying blur with platinum blonde hair, and the man whose name was supposed to be Hope, but his face was peeling at the edges and I knew it meant nothing. And Hope gave a grin that wasn’t his and took away mine that never was, and the blur swung a shining white arc that erupted in geysers and spirals of red. The red danced, and the blur followed, and the two of them shared this eerie courtship that parted ways when the red flew into the night that wasn’t there. They danced, the girl and her blood, and she dipped down deep and rose, and her skin shed as easily as leaves in the wind, and it was gone.</p><p>And now the Tuesday girl was, but her face wasn’t her own. Her skin wasn’t her own anymore. Her hair fell in a long sheet down her back, a few strands floating from the static, or maybe something else. There was a final crash, like an afterthought, although my gaze was fixed on the two of them. Whatever had just broken was less dangerous. It wasn’t a threat. They were.</p><p>The girl apologized for breaking the teacup in her usual demure manner, so quietly I barely heard her, and then laughed so long and loud I didn’t know what to say. Finally she told me she wasn’t sorry in the slightest bit, and she thought the teacups here were tacky and far too heavy. But delicious, she added, and I swear I saw the blood starting to flow from her teeth again. I looked away.</p><p>She pressed a stiff object into my hand, her fingers like cold ceramic to the touch, and walked out the door with Hope’s arm around her. They were greeted by a second man in matching overalls, and the three of them walked off into the night, strange music fading behind them. I looked down at what she’d given me. It was a ticket to what looked like a Drachman circus, although I couldn’t read it. It folded itself into a butterfly, gave me a cheery wink, and flew away.</p><p>The door swung shut with a ding, and I realized the shop was dark. Five hours had passed, according to the clock. Five. Hours. The shop was empty, the aprons were hung up, and the sun was going down. There wasn’t any sign that anything out of the ordinary had happened.</p><p>I took a taxi home, too shaken to sleep, and tried bringing up the matter with my co-workers the next day. Only Georgie Barker said she’d seen anything, although she wouldn’t tell me what it was. Allison Cree complained that I’d just vanished into that corner and left her to cover my shift, and Jack Nickols asked if I was doing all right. I made some excuse about needing time off, and quit my job the next day. It’s just as well; I heard the police say they found torn bits of human skin there, in a pattern the shape and size of a cracked porcelain saucer. I was investigated for a time, but in the end there was no evidence, and the case went cold.</p><p>I don’t know what that girl became, or how long she’d been on the road to becoming. But I cannot say for certain that she is even human anymore.</p><p>End statement.</p><p>[click]</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Jonathan Sims]</b>
</p><p>Supplemental: Attached is a photocopy of the Unknowing that Tim from Research provided, which is...well, rather disorientating to say the least. While I’d normally dismiss this as some by-product of caffeine and sleep deprivation, the fact that he mentioned Georgie Barker may indicate that there’s something to this, or at least a more reliable source. In addition, missing person’s reports during that time frame mention an Iris Kaiser, the mayor’s daughter. She rarely made public appearances, and when she did so, it was carefully planned in advance as a public relations move. She was often described as beautiful and demure, with elaborate outfits that certain circles of the public adored. I wonder; did she ever have a choice?</p><p>...Well. It’s too late to ask now, seeing as the Kaiser family was murdered a few years later. I’ll ask Martin to do some digging.</p><p>End recording.</p><p> </p><p>[click]</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[???]</b>
</p><p>Hello, there! It was <em> quite </em>rude of you to gossip about me. I wouldn’t dare attack you in the Eye’s new stronghold, of course; I’m not stupid. But while I’m here, in your—</p><p> </p><p>[door opens]</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Jonathan Sims]</b>
</p><p>Excuse me, who are you?</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[???]</b>
</p><p>Hm, I’m not particularly attached to names these days. They’re like skin, see. You shed it and feel like a new person, don’t you agree? </p><p> </p><p>[ominous slithering sound]</p><p> </p><p>[Jon makes a sound to indicate that he most certainly does <em> not </em>agree and wants her to stop]</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Jonathan Sims]</b>
</p><p>What— <em> what </em>are you?</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[???]</b>
</p><p>I am of I Do Not Know You, of course. Honestly; you were just talking about me, and you have the gall to forget? I think my dance was <em> quite </em>unforgettable.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Jonathan Sims]</b>
</p><p>You’re...Iris Kaiser?</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[???]</b>
</p><p>Hm. I was, I think. They used to call me by that name when they wanted something from me, but now they’re all gone and can’t want anything at all. So I think Iris Kaiser is gone too, gone and dead and chopped into little pieces and buried with all of them. But I guess I can exhume her name if that makes you feel better. Yes; I am Iris Kaiser for now.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Jonathan Sims]</b>
</p><p>Are you here to kill me, too?</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Iris Kaiser]</b>
</p><p>No, not really. That would waste a lot of things. I’m here to tell you that the circus is on your side.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Jonathan Sims]</b>
</p><p>The circus?</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Iris Kaiser]</b>
</p><p>Yes! The others, the family, the performers outside of reality. The ones like me. We actually hate you on principle, but we have a common enemy that’s greater than our enmity.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Jonathan Sims]</b>
</p><p>You’re— you’re telling me you— and your ‘circus’ want to ally yourself with the military? I really don’t think— </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Iris Kaiser]</b>
</p><p>Oh, no! The military’s not on your side, dear. Never has been.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Jonathan Sims]</b>
</p><p>What do you—</p><p> </p><p>[there’s a sudden smack, and the sound of Jon’s head thumping against the wall]</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Iris Kaiser]</b>
</p><p>You’re a curious one, aren’t you? Well, no more questions for you, sorry. Everything will make sense in time, or it won’t. I hope you appreciate the fact that we’re working with that hated voyeur. Still...</p><p> </p><p>[sound of a blade sinking into flesh; Jon cries out]</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Iris Kaiser]</b>
</p><p>There. You won’t follow me, right? You can’t? Or maybe I should have gone for the leg… Oh, is that an artery? That’s so cool! And the blood makes such lovely patterns on your shirt and the wallpaper when it spews out. Human lifeblood, driven by a beating heart... </p><p> </p><p>[Jon gasps in pain, and there are deeply unpleasant noises of blood spurting from a wound]</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Iris Kaiser]</b>
</p><p>It feels like forever since I’ve been human; I forget how they work sometimes. You should try changing sometime! I think you’ll like it. None of those pesky bones weighing you down. Oh, and don’t forget, it’s always listening!~</p><p> </p><p>[click]</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Nikola Orsinov]</b>
</p><p>What have I told you about humans, dear?</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Iris Kaiser]</b>
</p><p>They’re...delicate, right? With all their bones and blood and stuff?</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Breekon]</b>
</p><p>Yep. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Hope]</b>
</p><p>With fragile packages, a box or some tape will do just fine. Don’t make them bleed unless you have to.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Breekon]</b>
</p><p>Go for the throat or stomach first. If they can’t breathe, they can’t fight back.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Nikola Orsinov]</b>
</p><p>Don’t impale them; they get all screamy and die. Remember the man I nailed to a chair that one time?</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Iris Kaiser]</b>
</p><p>Yes, auntie. I’ll go practice!</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Nikola Orsinov]</b>
</p><p>Leave that here. And turn it off, will you? It’s a matter of principles.</p><p> </p><p>[click]</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Warnings for:</p><p>-blood</p><p>-depictions of violence</p><p>-stabbing</p><p>-altered reality</p><p>-implied familicide</p><p>...</p><p>...</p><p>...</p><p>...</p><p>...</p><p>...</p><p>...</p><p>...</p><p>...</p><p>...</p><p>...</p><p>...</p><p>...</p><p>Anyways Breekon and Hope are dads now. No I don’t make the rules I just scribble these things for the pleasure of the muses who live in my head rent free.</p><p>Also! I don’t talk about it much but I do have a tumblr, <a href="https://cureicy.tumblr.com/">here!</a> Come over and chat if you want! I mainly just ramble about life and fandoms, but I’m happy to talk about writing.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Partner</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings at the end! Not really sure when updates will come; i'm out of backlog and haven't worked on this story in a while, but on the bright side, I've had a lot of time to think and a lot of new material to work with. Feel free to let me know what y'all think about this one!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>[Martin Blackwood]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>— just </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> think you should get that looked at by someone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Jonathan Sims]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin, it’s fine. It was just a butter knife.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Martin Blackwood]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>You know what? Fine. If you’re going to keep to that story, I guess I can’t convince you otherwise. But you should really see a professional so it doesn’t get infected. And at least tell Major Hughes so you can ask for time off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Jonathan Sims]</b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He doesn’t need to know about my clumsiness, so long as it doesn’t interfere with my job. Now, if you’ll give that back, I have a follow up investigation to make. I’d prefer it if I didn’t have to requisition yet another tape recorder.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Martin Blackwood]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>What, because the other one fell into the toaster? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Jonathan Sims]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Making toast was rather unsuccessful last night.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Martin Blackwood]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>[despairing sigh] I won’t tell him, but at least let me help since your arm is still injured; I can go instead, or I could come along and help—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Jonathan Sims]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Give me back my tape recorder. I don’t need assistance, I need to do my job.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Martin Blackwood]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Fine, fine. Just… okay.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Jonathan Sims]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Thank you.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>[knocking, then door swings open]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Georgie Barker]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Jonathan Sims]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Hello, Georgie. I’m afraid it’s for work.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Georgie Barker]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>You work for the </span>
  <em>
    <span>military</span>
  </em>
  <span>. That’s not exactly comforting, Jon.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Jonathan Sims]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>The most distant and nonviolent branch I could find, yes. It’s regarding a customer at the café you used to work for, and a dance.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Georgie Barker]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>….right. I should make some tea.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Jonathan Sims]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Tin?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Georgie Barker]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah. I don’t use ceramic anymore.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Jonathan Sims]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah. Quite understandable. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[clink of metal against wood]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Georgie Barker]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Are you going to believe me when I tell you?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Jonathan Sims]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Off the record? Yes. [unzipping noise, shuffling of papers] Oh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Georgie Barker]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>What do you mean, oh?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Jonathan Sims]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s fine. I’ll just get rid of this tape and start with a fresh one. I swear, it’s like this thing has a mind of its own.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Georgie Barker]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon—</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Georgie Barker]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Right, so you want me to...give a statement?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Jonathan Sims]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Correct. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Georgie Barker]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Hm. Don’t you need your… intro line?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Jonathan Sims]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Intro line?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Georgie Barker]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, it’s not a radio show, but you still have to read an introduction for your tapes, don’t you?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Jonathan Sims]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Right. It’s not as creative as yours, but… Statement of Georgie Barker, regarding a strange customer at her place of employment. Statement taken direct from subject, 20th May, 1911, and recorded by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of Section 31.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Statement begins.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[Georgie takes a sip of tea and clears her throat]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Georgie Barker]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Personally, no matter how many rumors about her being immortal or a vampire there were, I just thought she was lonely. She was reserved, sure, but if you brought up the right conversation topic, she was very enthusiastic. We spent several minutes discussing the effects of gentrification on communities once, and while she was extremely well spoken, she spent a lot more time listening than speaking. Still, it was a job, and she was quite introverted, so I don’t think we ever spoke for more than ten minutes at a time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I...think she may have had a bit of a crush on me at some point, although I couldn’t say for certain. Still, seeing as she was in secondary school and I was in my first year of university, I wouldn’t have felt comfortable with it anyways, and eventually she stopped stuttering around me. Her smiles were less nervous, and she even showed me her notebook once. It was a bit of poetry, about— well, it was hard to tell, really. It had this rhythm that reminded me of a dance, about how life keeps moving regardless of what happens. I told her it was lovely, and I don’t think I’d ever seen her smile so widely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was like that; exceptionally private but every now and then you would get a glimpse of a whole world you didn’t understand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was one time when she asked me if I ever felt like I didn’t belong. Normally when someone asks me that, I’ll call them out on it or just make a mental note to ignore them, but I got the impression she wasn’t being racist about it, she was just lost and looking to someone older for advice. I told her that yes, sometimes I did, but the key to getting through life was to find people who will support you and hold on until you have your own independence. From there, you can take time to figure yourself out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And she asked what would happen if her family broke her before that happened. That exact phrasing. She said it very calmly, but by now I knew that the calmness was a facade for worry. It occurred to me then that I knew very little about her family, and her living situation could be worse than I thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I didn’t know how to respond to that; when I suggested contacting the authorities, she laughed so hard I was worried she’d choke, still so quietly, and shook her head. Said she’d put up with it long enough, she could do it a little longer. This was a direct contradiction to what she’d just told me, and I asked if she had any contingency plans, anywhere to go. She told me she could run away and join the circus. I didn’t know if she was joking, but she turned back to her notebook and made it clear that the conversation was over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next week, though, I realized it wasn’t. I heard music for the first hour or so, like a pipe organ or something, and something in the notes made me think of disjointed laughter. It was headache-inducing, honestly. Around ten, it abruptly stopped, and I was looking forward to going home when I found out I’d been scheduled for a double shift without my knowledge, so I ended up just taking a painkiller and pushing through it again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’d nearly forgotten that the Tuesday girl hadn’t shown up, but then she walked in, bringing the faint sound of organ music with her, and took her seat. Nick was serving that table, so when Allison asked me to take over the register, I didn’t really have much energy to spare on watching her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then, I saw Nick walk closer to her and— not disappear, exactly, but his outline lost definition and he moved until I couldn’t see him anymore. He was just </span>
  <em>
    <span>gone.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I tried telling Allison, but she brushed me off, and every customer avoided that spot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They had the right idea. Because when I delivered to the table behind, I walked too close. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing</span>
  </em>
  <span>, this localized impossibility, whatever it was that swallowed up Nick for hours and then spat him back out shaking...brushed by me. That’s the only way I can describe it. Like— like the arm of a hurricane, except this was a storm of confusion and deluded perception. I forgot where I was, who I was, and there was this music.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was dancing, I think. But she was covered in blood, and her skin was cracked and falling off in tiny, jagged pieces.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She held out a hand to me, and her entire arm was a flower unfurling in my direction. I think she was inviting me to dance. And she told me, without saying a word, “There will never be another moment like this one. You understand that, don’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was too stunned to move. But the music kept playing, and the moment passed, and the world was real again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wish I could say there was a supernatural explanation for what I did the last two hours of work, but honestly I think I just dissociated my way through it. Allison made a catty remark on how I was so out of it, and I just gave her my best customer service smile and told her fine then, I'd just leave. So at the end of the day, I wrote my letter of resignation and hung up my apron. I wish I could have enjoyed Allison’s shocked face more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But looking back, I don’t know if I could have felt that. Since then, my emotions have been...different. Fear is gone entirely. Curiosity is dull, I can’t empathize with others like I used to, and disgust turns into a deeply physical sensation. She shifted around everything in my head, and frankly it messed me up for a long time, trying to adjust to my new reality. I thought it was just… I don’t know, trauma? That’s what I told the therapist. After a few months, I had to switch because I felt like the first one was disappointed in my lack of progress. Some days I don’t think I’ve made any progress at all, only learned to find ways to work around the blank spaces and fake being normal around other people. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was right, though. There really never will be another moment like the one where she asked me to dance. Because even if there was, the empty space she left in my head won’t let me feel any of it</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...statement ends, I think.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Jonathan Sims]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Georgie, I—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Georgie Barker]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Turn that thing off.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>warnings for:</p><p>-self mutilation</p><p>-emotional trauma</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Jon's sense of humor is honestly a lot of fun. He just says he was having a wild night in making toast while Martin is astonished that he's trying to be convinced of this.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Not a chapter, just an apology</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>This is going on hiatus for a while.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>With the current political situation, I don't feel entirely comfortable continuing this fic right now. I set out writing it with certain intentions, and while I'm doing my best to be respectful and think critically about my portrayals of certain events and characters, right now I need to back off. In fairness, most of that content is yet to come, but from the start, this fic has been a way for me to tear open fascism and rip out its entrails to put on display. The themes have always been about how insidious a malicious and stagnant authority can be, and how seemingly innocuous policies can weave a web that reinforces existing social hierarchies. But now, all of that is a little too real, and I'd prefer to cope with escapism. I fully intend to return to this fic, but for now, I'm taking a break.</p><p>If you enjoy my writing, I have plenty of other content for the magnus archives to hopefully tide you over, though. There's quite a bit of safehouse fluff, plus a canon rewrite with communication, yearning, murder, and eventual polyamory. Please read the tags and keep yourselves safe and mentally healthy. Thank you all for your support.</p>
  </div></div>
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